Return of the Sun
Since I grew up in South Florida, I took the sun for granted. It's pretty much always sunny in South Florida. If it rains, it's usually in the late afternoon and is here and gone in a matter of moments. There are not really the days on end of gloom and damp, chilly rain.
Lots of people ask me why I moved from South Florida to Columbus, Ohio. I will usually say something about the variety of weather we have up here in the Midwest, while Miami just has about 10 months of summer, about 6 weeks of early spring, and about two weeks of potential chill. And to be honest, there are days in Ohio -- the first warm day after winter, the first crisp day after a brutal summer -- that have no equivalents in Miami.
Where I used to live.
Where I live now.
But it's the sun, our very shy sun, that can make Columbus so challenging for me. The older I get, the more issues I have with the winter. Clinically speaking, I probably have Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I haven't had an official diagnosis. It's not a major case, although my family can now predict that I will not be at my best from January through March, and maybe through April if the weather stays lousy. It makes me sometimes wonder why I would choose to live in such a gloomy place. It's not really the cold -- I can deal with that -- but the light.
I remember when I was in South Florida at the tail end of winter about two years ago. I was driving a car back to Ohio that my parents were giving me, and I stopped along the ocean. It was a nice small beach in Palm Beach County, and it was about 65 degrees out, which is sort of chilly for South Floridians. I remember standing on a concrete walkway along an inlet, watching boats traveling in and out packed with weathered wooden lobster traps. The salt air was warm and seabirds perched nearby. I had a definite "I moved to Ohio, why?" moment.
But I'm 41 now, which is just about the age when my parents got fed up with the cold and moved from New Jersey to Miami. It is only age-appropriate that I should want the warmer weather in middle age. I don't know if I can live out the rest of my adulthood in the gloom.
However, moving back to South Florida is not really an option. So much of the art and music I love is up north, and my colleagues are, too. And as far a day job goes, I don't think there is any real work for me down there. If anything, I could see living in a city like Chicago, but that just means more cold and gloom.
As an artist, I feel the least creative and inspired in the winter. Through the years, I've learned not to take this as a sign of diminishing abilities. I just know on the first really nice day, everything will come back to me.
But I'm getting better at dealing with it. I find that if I give myself "assignments," then I can keep my mind going through the worst of the clouds and rain and cold. So if I feel aimless, I'll read a book (like The Best and the Brightest by David Halberstam), practice a piece on piano (as I'm doing with the Brecht/Weill Salomon Song), research a particular topic (like the guitar method I'd like to actually put together). Or write in this blog, like I'm doing now.
If you note the date of the previous posting and compare it to this one, you will see the outline of the worst time of the year for me. It should be no surprise to anyone the at the time of the writing of this entry it is sunny and 82 and the grass is green and the trees are covered with buds.
Lots of people ask me why I moved from South Florida to Columbus, Ohio. I will usually say something about the variety of weather we have up here in the Midwest, while Miami just has about 10 months of summer, about 6 weeks of early spring, and about two weeks of potential chill. And to be honest, there are days in Ohio -- the first warm day after winter, the first crisp day after a brutal summer -- that have no equivalents in Miami.
Where I used to live.
Where I live now.I remember when I was in South Florida at the tail end of winter about two years ago. I was driving a car back to Ohio that my parents were giving me, and I stopped along the ocean. It was a nice small beach in Palm Beach County, and it was about 65 degrees out, which is sort of chilly for South Floridians. I remember standing on a concrete walkway along an inlet, watching boats traveling in and out packed with weathered wooden lobster traps. The salt air was warm and seabirds perched nearby. I had a definite "I moved to Ohio, why?" moment.
But I'm 41 now, which is just about the age when my parents got fed up with the cold and moved from New Jersey to Miami. It is only age-appropriate that I should want the warmer weather in middle age. I don't know if I can live out the rest of my adulthood in the gloom.
However, moving back to South Florida is not really an option. So much of the art and music I love is up north, and my colleagues are, too. And as far a day job goes, I don't think there is any real work for me down there. If anything, I could see living in a city like Chicago, but that just means more cold and gloom.
As an artist, I feel the least creative and inspired in the winter. Through the years, I've learned not to take this as a sign of diminishing abilities. I just know on the first really nice day, everything will come back to me.
But I'm getting better at dealing with it. I find that if I give myself "assignments," then I can keep my mind going through the worst of the clouds and rain and cold. So if I feel aimless, I'll read a book (like The Best and the Brightest by David Halberstam), practice a piece on piano (as I'm doing with the Brecht/Weill Salomon Song), research a particular topic (like the guitar method I'd like to actually put together). Or write in this blog, like I'm doing now.
If you note the date of the previous posting and compare it to this one, you will see the outline of the worst time of the year for me. It should be no surprise to anyone the at the time of the writing of this entry it is sunny and 82 and the grass is green and the trees are covered with buds.
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